


Seen

by Coyote_the_Trickster



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, F/F, Freeform, Loneliness, One-Sided Attraction, Social Anxiety, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coyote_the_Trickster/pseuds/Coyote_the_Trickster
Summary: What she wouldn't give to be seen.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Female Character





	Seen

**Author's Note:**

> A short story.
> 
> Criticism welcome.

“How are you?”

The seemingly innocuous question erupts inside my brain like a smoke grenade. She’s smiling at me, her eyes widening and welcoming. I sway a little on my feet, trying to see past the fog that has clouded my thoughts. The lamp hanging over the counter highlights the edge of her hair as it curves against her cheek.

“I’m fine,” I lie, as I reach for my wallet. My mouth snaps shut like a bear trap as the words cross my lips and I throw my gaze into the dark. The wall-consuming windows don’t reflect the already rising sun. With no light, I can barely spot my car, or the woman crossing the vast and empty parking lot.

My numb fingers find my card buried in the folds of my wallet. I watch as she steps away to pour me some hot water, disappearing behind the espresso machine. Something is balancing on the tip of my tongue, but my lips remain sewn together, fastened, in a way that feels all too familiar.

About a month ago, she addressed me by my name and had already prepared my tea before I ordered. The memory had lodged itself deep into my brain like an annoying kernel of popcorn permanently stuck in-between my teeth.

I stare at my hands planted on the counter, my body gaining a ton.

_Just say something—ask her name—anything!_

The door opens as she carefully places the full mug of water in front of me. The next customer’s heels click against the cemented floor. Behind me, I feel her eyes on my back, and with my sewn-shut lips, I take the mug and retreat to my usual table.

“Thank you,” my voice almost shakes as I grab one last look at her, my feet already carrying me to the far corner of the shop. I hear her laugh with other woman as she takes her order, and there is a feeling, like a balloon inflating in my chest.

_Thank you...is that really all you could muster?_

The words felt heavy when I spoke them, loaded with the memories I had replayed in my head over and over. The fantasies I made up as I lied in bed in the middle of the day, unable to motivate myself—unable to muster the strength to move. Thank you wasn’t just for the tea...

I try not to pay attention to the other customer as she laughs with her like they are old friends. My shoulders tense and a familiar pain radiates from my collarbone. The chair is uncomfortable beneath me. I want to lie down.

The conversation subsides. A few more customers trickle in. Sunlight barely breaks through the windows, pushing against the white haze of the snow. My hand instinctively opens my notebook. I am here to write. I have two hours until my physical therapy appointment, and I _must_ write something.

Her laugh stands out, even from my isolated nook. I don’t have to be looking at her to see her eyes smile. 

I could talk to her.

I _should_ talk to her, but my stomach turns at the thought. My throat dry.

I feel swallowed up by the blank page starring back at me. The muscles in my upper back clench as they try to pull my shoulders back.

“You have the typical back pack shoulders,” I hear my physical therapist say, “Are you sure you wear your pack correctly?”

Of course—I’ve only been doing this job for five years now.

“Shoes. Do you wear proper boots?”

_They wouldn’t let me work without them!_

“A lot of women carry stress in their shoulders. You just need to practice keeping them down and back.”

The lead in my pencil breaks under the pressure as I try to jot down some ideas. I can’t seem to escape the pain the spreading across my upper body. No work. No writing. Not capable.

The first morning rush begins to shuffle inside, desperate for the warmth and a necessary dose of caffeine before beginning their day.

“I’m good for a Monday!”

“How are you, Katie?”

“I got carpool duty this week...”

This bits and pieces of their conversations infect my ear. Some of their faces I can even recognize, just as she does.

I am shrinking...but would she even notice?

Bowing my head, I let my hand go, scribbling nonsense and letting every word strangle me. People walk by me and shout, but I ignore them. Lost in my own head. My own world.

I do not know how long I am like this, but my hand begins to cramp. I slow my writing.

“Let me get you some more hot water.”

Her voice surprises me, and my heart jumps.

“Oh no, I think I’m done--,” I start to protest, watching my hands close the notebook’s cover.

“Ah ok, well--it was good to see you! I was wondering why you hadn’t been in all week…”

My cheeks grow warm. A certain calm comes over me.

“Remind me of your name again?”


End file.
